Mischief Managed
by GASPLudwig
Summary: A stealing, punk rock, city girl heads into La Push with her con-man brother to get away from their abusive father to the mother they never see. Paul X OC, for now.


"Just get the hell out Amber!"

I didn't bother correcting my dad. Telling him my name was Amari and not Amber. Instead I just left.

I walked swiftly down our cracking, rain splattered cement steps, closing our all too heavy metal door behind me.

Part of me hated living in Seattle. But I could never imagine me living outside the city. It was probably the only place that accepted people like me. Purple hair, pale skin, dark, ripped clothes and all.

I swooped down and grabbed the neighbors news paper in my hands as I strode past their step and towards the end of the street where it hit the intersection.

I opened the paper, flicking through it until I found the art section. I wish I had a pencil so I could write on the news paper and fix up the minor mistakes on the artist work that was displayed in the section. Some of these people just didn't know how to draw a straight line.

Sighing, I flipped the paper closed and tossed it into the recycling bin I passed. I stopped further down the road, pulling a piece of long cardboard out of someone's trash can and taking my giant, black sharpie from my pocket.

I scrawled out the words, 'Homeless, please help.' just before I reached my spot on the intersection corner.

I did look more homeless then usual today, if I do say so myself. My black jeans weren't always ripped, and my green tank top that matched my eyes was falling off of my body more then usual.

In all honesty, I hadn't eaten in the last couple of days. What can I say? I wasn't hungry. Not that I would have food to eat even if I was.

I sat at the corner of the intersection, frowning visibly, and watched as people drove by in their cars, not bothering to toss me any money.

I looked up when two ripped up combat boots stopped next to me. I knew those boots.

"What the hell do you want, Oliver?" I asked my brother, looking up to meet his blue eyes, so much like my own.

"Nice to see you too." He smiled brightly at me, adjusting his long, brown jacket easily. Probably because of all the things he kept in there to scam everyone he ever met.

"Shut up." I mumbled, standing up and not even bothering to wipe the dirt off my clothes.

"Did you here what Viktor's doing to us?" He asked, refusing to call our father by anything but his first name.

"You mean slowly killing us?" I asked, raising one brow and starting back towards the house.

"Nope. I mean shipping us off to go live with that Debra chick."

I stopped in my tracks.

"You mean our mom?" I asked, thinking I might just have a panic attack. Going to live with my mom in some suburban city was not something that was in my five year plan. Hell, it wasn't in my LIFE plan.

"Yup. Got to admit though, it's better then being here." Olive stated, giving me a once over, a smirk forming on his face when he saw how uneasy I was. "We might just have to fix you up a little bit there Amari."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you got the body, but you sure as hell don't have the attitude or…look to be in the, you know, anywhere with grass." He chuckled bitterly at me as I continued walking towards the house.

"You're not funny."

"I'm not trying to be, Mari. I'm serious." He chuckled again, his long, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Don't worry. I'll help you dye your hair and pick out some normal clothes."

"The hell you will. Besides, I'm not going. I've lived her in the city by myself before. I can do it again." I said, more to myself.

"Psh, like hell you can. Besides, I heard the Debra broad wants to see you or what ever. Wants to see 'her spitting image.'" He quoted.

"How do you even know all this?" I asked, though y heart swelled at the idea.

"Ease dropping's what I do love." He answered with a smirk, looking over at me slyly.

"I really have to dye my hair?" I whispered.

"And get some more…conservative clothes." He pointed out, noting on my usual black tank top and purple or dark blue skirt.

"Right." I mumbled to myself, making the mental note.

"Besides, you can't survive in a grassy place without appropriate clothing.


End file.
